


Let the Game Begin

by orphan_account



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: I haven't played the event much like all of my SL AUs, M/M, Power Play, Shining Live AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 09:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Masa knows this is a betrayal of the highest order. But if Tokilock can't escape Renarty's schemes, how could he be expected to?





	Let the Game Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you have read this already on Twitter; I posted this in a private post months ago, but I think I'm to the point where I'm ready to post it here. 
> 
> It's super rare for me to write smut, especially like this, but I had a wild thought and ran with it. I think Lana deserves part of the credit here, because I think it was based off something she said, but I don't remember what it was.
> 
> Also, I swear I'll write something cute for RenMasa someday, because I've written like . . . nothing for them and I really should. 
> 
> As with all of my SL AUs, I haven't read any of this storyline, but I have read like every Sherlock Holmes story in existence, so hopefully they sort of followed that (probably not, but I can dream lol).

“Let me slip into something more comfortable,” Renarty says, and Masa’s mouth goes dry as he watches his index finger slip into the knot of his tie. The movement, back and forth as he loosens it, is hypnotic. Masa’s eyes are drawn to the Adam’s apple bobbing as it’s freed, the smooth, freshly shaved skin beneath it, and he swallows thickly.

“Go right ahead,” he tries to say as if he’s disaffected, but he sounds hoarse, even to his own ears.

Renarty’s smirk grows as he strips the tie from his neck completely. The movement is smooth and sensuous, like he’s removing more than just an accessory. Somehow, despite being fully clothed, Masa feels like he’s completely bare in front of him, and for a moment, it’s overwhelming. 

He knew exactly what would happen when he came into this mansion. He knew that he would end up in this position, and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s going to be spread out on the bed behind him, Renarty on top of him. It’s so wrong—this is his best friend’s enemy, a dangerous criminal—and that only seems to add to the thrill. 

He’s not sure why the criminal mastermind took notice of him, aside from being someone that Tokilock had. Even their introduction, a polite but cool “nice to meet you” to Tokilock, but towards him, a full-body appraisal, a lazy swagger, and a purred “enchanté” that had made him very aware of just how imposing James Renarty could be. He is a tiger waiting to pounce, and even though Masa has already said that he and Tokilock aren’t together romantically, Renarty seems to take it as a challenge to own him and control him.

Renarty’s hands work towards his vest then, dexterous fingers playing with the buttons before popping them open one by one. The air feels heavy and charged with electricity. Masa knows it’s impossible to hear it, but there’s a sound, a whisper of relief with every button removed. The shirt underneath isn’t special, but it’s one step closer to the inevitable start of this dalliance. When the last button is undone, Renarty turns to show off how his shoulder blades roll as he removes it. He can see them through the fabric, the broad expanse of back punctuated by a defined crevasse in the middle. It dips low, the shirt flattening across it as his shoulders hit the bottom of their rotation and then pulled tight across the two divots that form to frame it as they come back up. He looks back towards Masa then, almost as if to invite him to come, to touch.

Renarty is forcing him to make the first move, to be complicit in this betrayal so that he can’t go back and pretend it was just some lapse in judgment. It’s slow and calculated for the maximum impact. Masa has weighed all of his options, but there wasn’t even a competition for which one would win. 

He moves forward, smoothing the skin-warmed cotton with his fingertips, and pretends to adjust his collar in some minute way. “You should really hang your clothes up after you take them off,” he says.

“Care to show me the proper protocol?”

He’s practically purring, and Masa tries not to think about how it sends shivers up his spine or makes his breath catch in his throat. Instead, he takes a shallow breath and guides Renarty to turn back around. The buttons on his front are opal lacquered and slick against Masa’s fingers. He fumbles with them a little—men’s clothing is not suited for being assisted getting undressed, not to mention that Renarty’s head has dipped low enough that he can feel warm breath against his hair when he chuckles at Masa’s ineptitude—and after the first one is undone, Masa sucks in a breath. There is flawless bronze skin underneath. It’s the kind of skin that needs lips and teeth tugging marks into it. He gets the sadistic urge to place a hickey right there, right on the top of the manubrium, right where his tie knot sits. 

“Do it.” The command is little more than a whisper, and to be honest, Masa isn’t sure Renarty has spoken at all. It may be the murmur of his inner voice instead, the one telling him that the consequences won’t matter after this.

So, he does it.

It evokes the tiniest noise of shock, just an “oh” that sounds neither surprised nor upset. In fact, he sounds delighted with this development. One of his hands slides into Masa’s hair and pulls his head back up after the mark is made and his tongue has licked over his handiwork several times. It is red and angry, but it belongs there, he thinks.

Tokilock might not be able to beat Renarty, but Masa has laid claim to his body.

“You like it rough, hm?” There is nothing concerned in Renarty’s expression, and his lips are spread into a wide grin. “Or is that just for the first round?”

He feels hot at the idea of multiple rounds. His shirt collar is too tight, but loosening it would require him to take one hand away from the buttons he’s still scrabbling with. “These are ridiculous,” he says, working on the third.

“Would you like help?”

“_Please._” It should be mortifying to say that, but it’s not when he’s faced with an open expanse of chest almost immediately after his plea. His palms feel every inch as he grabs and gropes it desperately. He’s not sure when he became so unhinged, particularly since Renarty hasn’t touched him at all yet.

“Look at you,” he says into Masa’s ear. “What would your precious Tokilock say if he saw you right now?”

He’d be furious, and it almost snaps him out of his daze, but Renarty’s tongue is warm and wet against his earlobe. It slithers in circles and trails around the edge so lightly it’s like he’s been burned. Masa’s fingers dig into the skin of Renarty’s lower back, but there’s no reaction aside from another chuckle. 

“I’m your enemy, but you can’t resist, can you?” 

Renarty’s teeth dig in, and even though it’s just the tiniest nip, Masa can’t help his sharp intake of breath. 

“You’re smart. Where do you want this to go tonight?”

The offending teeth retract back into licks and kisses, this time around the crown of his ear. The ear is one of the least sensitive places of the body, Masa knows, but his knees are already threatening to give out. “You know—”

“—you’ll have to tell me,” Renarty corrects him. He pulls away, just enough so that his breath still tickles the shell of Masa’s ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“Who?”

His name feels like a taboo; he shouldn’t say it out loud, but he won’t get any more if he doesn’t, so he swallows down his guilt. “James Renarty.”

“I don’t believe you.”

There are very few times in Masa’s life where he’s seen the line before he crossed it, but he can see this line clearly. This is the point of no return, he knows.

He pulls back so that he can kiss the living daylights out of Renarty, and the mastermind responds immediately like he’s not even surprised about it.

Perhaps he’s not, Masa reflects. Renarty’s plan was all about seduction, and if not even Tokilock can avoid a Renarty plan, then how could Masa ever dream to? He kisses like he’s all-consuming, like a man possessed, and this time, Masa’s knees do give out. He clings to Renarty’s shoulders, presses crescent-shaped fingernail markings into his skin underneath his shirt, and for more than a moment, Masa forgets that they’re both mostly clothed, because this is the kind of passion he expects from the peak of this experience, not the beginning.

Renarty has to dump him on the bed before he can start removing his layers, but he sprawls across it on his back and beckons Masa to straddle him after he removes the last of his shirt. His pants are indecently low on his hips, and Masa can feel the heat of his body between his inner thighs as he moves where Renarty wants him. His jacket, vest, and shirt are off in seconds, and when Renarty’s fingers start tracing patterns into his skin, he arches his back and doesn’t bother to stifle the whimper he makes now that he’s finally being touched. They draw circles over his arms, knead tension from his shoulders, rake lines across his torso that redden after his short nails scrape across them. For all that he’s disaffected, he’s already a generous lover, and once Masa’s pants are undone, he sits up so that he can mouth wet kisses against his neck. It’s hard to concentrate with a tongue flicking across his skin, even more so when he starts to dip lower. Masa can’t help but grind down on him, and he’s rewarded with a hard bite. It’s going to leave marks—at the rate Renarty is going, he’s going to look like he’s been mauled by a wild animal in the morning—but he can’t bring himself to care, even though he’s roommates with the most observant person on the planet. Tokilock is going to know, he’s going to guess it was with Renarty, and that should make it worse but god it makes it better.

His pants have become uncomfortably tight, even unbuttoned and loosened as they are, and when Renarty lays back against the bed so they can both shed their respective ones, Masa almost sighs in relief. He expects immediate, harried touching like what they just stopped, but Renarty doesn’t even move towards him until he motions towards the bottle of lubricant and tells Masa to prepare himself. And it’s humiliating, with eyes on him, watching his every move. He’s hard, but he’s tight too, and although he’s not a stranger to doing this to himself, it feels almost unfamiliar when he manages to insert the first finger inside of himself. It’s a different angle, on his knees, slightly leaned forward for ease of movement. It’s uncomfortable. His calves hurt with the weight, and his thighs feel the strain, but Renarty’s eyes are on his face the entire time, like he’s trying to tell exactly what’s going through Masa’s mind.

He’s started on the second finger when Renarty finally touches him. They’re feather light touches on his inner thighs, trailing up until his fingers smear some of the precum his head is drooling. It’s almost like he’s playing with it, dipping his fingers in and then swirling it in circles in various places, around veins and ridges. It’s the most bizarre thing he’s ever experienced, but it’s also somehow the most erotic. It’s not enough and too much at the same time, and his hips start pushing back onto his hand in the search for more stimulation.

At three fingers, Renarty finally takes him into his hand and strokes. It doesn’t take much to get to the apex then, not with the stimulation of his hand and his gaze still focused solidly on Masa and his fingers deep inside of himself. He’s so close he can barely think straight. 

And then Renarty squeezes the base of his cock and he can’t help how loud the whimper is that tears itself from his throat.

“Don’t tell me this is enough,” he says. There’s a flush high in his cheeks now, so he’s not totally disaffected, but he’s not panting for breath like Masa is. “You know what you want.”

Renarty’s hips rise, and something hard grinds against Masa’s wrist.

He’s barely in his right mind enough to apply more lubricant, but then he’s sinking down onto Renarty’s lap, whines high in his throat as he slowly gets used to being filled this solidly. He’s so warm and thicker and longer than Masa prepared for, but he relishes the burn. It’s so much better than he could have imagined, especially with Renarty’s low murmurs of “come on, you can take it” that settle low in the base of his throat. 

By the time he has taken it all, he’s whimpering and moving his hips back and forth for more stimulation. Renarty takes his face into both hands, a surprisingly gentle gesture considering everything else, and very firmly says “now fuck yourself on me”.

Masa doesn’t need any more instruction.

He’s fallen deep into Renarty’s trap, but he can’t bring himself to care as he moves, slamming himself down to make as many sparks catch inside of himself as he can. He’s doing this, all of this, of his own choice. It’s the greatest betrayal of his best friend that he could do, but his eyes are rolling backwards in his head and the sounds he’s making are barely human, and that’s without being touched. It’s still not enough though, and he reaches down to try to help himself out, but Renarty swats his hand away.

“Beg.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me,” he begs, and he’s not sure if it’s the tears in his eyes or his words, but he gets his wish. This time it’s strong and purposeful, and Masa is stuck between pushing down on the cock inside of him or pushing into the hand around him. It’s all so good, and he can’t catch his breath between the sounds he’s making and the gasping inhales he’s making to try to fill his lungs. It’s a surprise when he finally comes, because he’s been on the edge for so long, but he almost blacks out when his release happens. He’s trembling so hard that Renarty has to hold him up, forehead touching the hickey he left. Without a doubt, that’s the best orgasm he’s had in his entire life, and even though he’s not sure he’ll survive another one, he definitely wants to try once he’s sure he won’t die from this one.

Renarty _tsk_s, but it’s not a reproachful sound. “Already?” he asks.

Masa lifts his head to see the expression on his face. It’s not kind amusement, but he is amused, and Masa wants nothing more than to wreck that pretty face and his unshaken expressions. “That’s only the first round,” he says, although the effect is slightly lessened with how breathless it is.

Renarty’s grin grows even wider. “Good,” is all he says, and his hands capture Masa’s hips. “Let the game begin.”


End file.
